


A Permanent Misunderstanding

by firelord65



Series: Holiday Fic Prompt Contest Fics [1]
Category: Divergent (Movies), Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Drinking, F/M, Prompt Fill, Tattoos, ex-boyfriend drama, matching tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5691526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelord65/pseuds/firelord65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tris gets some new ink, things get messy. Her tattoo is identical to Eric's brand new tattoo. Combine that with her recent breakup with Four and <em>everyone</em> thinks that they've been secretly dating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [symbioticdeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/symbioticdeath/gifts).



> Prompt: Tris/Eric- accidental matching tattoo and now everyone thinks we're a thing  
> From Athenrys / Symbioticdeath  
> Length: Multichapter
> 
> This one was a lot of fun to conceptualize and work on! I spent about an hour just sitting at my computer trying to figure out what the accidental matching tattoos were going to be. You may also see my affection for the art of tattooing as gleamed by binge watching all of Ink Master in a few short weeks.
> 
>  Setting-wise, this is set post-initiation, assuming that after the attack on Abnegation things worked out more smoothly. Those involved in Erudite and Dauntless’s planning of the attack were brought to trial and punished accordingly to their guilt. A little hand-wavy, but that’s where we’re at *shrugs*.
> 
> Enjoy! Please Read and Review! Con-crit is welcomed.

I’m not even sure what motivated me to get a new tattoo this week. Maybe it was something someone said at lunch. Maybe it was a mental reward for doing well in my post-initiation training. Or maybe I had just felt like doing something for myself.

Whatever the reason, I found myself sitting comfortably in Tori’s tattoo chair, flipping through her concept books. She was cleaning up her tools and we were chatting about nothing in particular. It felt nice to be able to talk about casual topics after all the hell that had reigned after the attacks on Abnegation.

“So you’re not having too much trouble with the leadership training?” Tori asked curiously, wiping off her tattoo machine with a cloth. “I was worried that it would be pretty tough with half the old guard in the cells.”

I shrugged one shoulder, flipping another page in the book. “That’s not so bad. Honestly the worst part is just how people outside of training are acting,” I explained. “Half the faction still is pretty faithful to Max and his cronies, so they keep giving me the worst looks. And then the other half treats me like a goddamn hero.”

She met my eyes with sympathy. “I can see that being pretty frustrating. At least you’ve got Four to share the burden with,” Tori replied quietly. When I didn’t respond, she paused in her cleaning. “You guys _are_ still together, right?”

I exhaled slowly. Things between Tobias and I had been rocky since the trials in Candor. He wanted to push for more cooperation between the factionless and the factions. I couldn’t believe he wanted to focus on that when there was practically a _civil war_ brewing between the surviving Abnegation and Jeanine’s remaining supporters over the division of power and the “Divergent threat.” We were only a few months in and tensions were still high.

He kept insisting that supporting the factionless more would bring stability to the city. I was fairly certain that he just wanted to help his mother’s cause, especially at the expense of Marcus’ power in the Council.

“We’re on a break,” I explained quietly. “So I’m kind of on my own.”

Tori made a sound between her teeth. “Four’s an idiot. At least you’ve still got your buddies from initiation,” she assured me with a small smile. “And me, of course.” She squeezed my shoulder quickly before going back to her cleaning.

I murmured a word of thanks. Then I went back to the concept book, looking more carefully at the stark designs. Nothing was really catching my eye, though, and I soon reached the end of the album.

“I’m going to grab another book from the front, Tori,” I chirped, hopping off the chair smoothly. They wouldn’t be her designs, but it was fairly common practice that any up front were good anyone’s use. She nodded silently as I walked out from her section.

The few others milling around the parlor thankfully ignored me as I snagged the topmost design book. A few loose pages threatened to fall out from the binding. I juggled the book to get most of the pages back in place, but one fluttered out to the floor. I picked it up, peering more closely at the image drawn on the page.

Walking smoothly back to Tori’s little alcove, I put the found page on the desk with a smack. “Found my next tattoo!” I exclaimed.

She looked over the design, a small frown creasing her brow. “I feel like I’ve seen this recently, but I can’t remember why,” Tori murmured. After a second she shrugged, unconcerned. “Where do you want to place it? And is the size okay?” she sat down on her stool and rolled over to her printer, setting it up to print out the stencil.

* * *

Four hours later and Tori was applying the finishing touches. “This is looking really sweet, Tris. You’re going to be so happy with this long term,” she remarked cheerfully. I was gritting my teeth, trying to keep my muscles relaxed for the last few strokes of the needle. My other tattoos had been fairly straightforward, so the sitting time had been shorter. Now I was realizing the benefit of smaller tattoos.

“A-a-and you’re finished!” she said another minute later, putting down her now-still tattoo machine. A few more wipes to remove the excess black ink and I was about ready to see the finished product. Tori took me over to the full length mirror on the back wall of her station and hovered eagerly behind me. “Well?”

I twisted carefully, looking at my arm. The design started at the top by my left shoulder, continuing down before tapering out at my elbow. It was a series of perfect triangles, outlined in the sharpest linework that I’d ever seen Tori do. A few were filled in completely in stark black and others had just a light wash of dotwork. It was stunning.

Turning my head, I met Tori’s eyes. “Absolutely perfect!” I cheered, unable to stop the huge grin on my face. “Even better than the sketch.” I bumped knuckles with her gloved hand.

“Excellent,” she replied. I sat back on the chair, and Tori applied some healing cream. It would speed up the process so that I didn’t have to keep my new tat wrapped up. Tori had told me one time that before the war it was a lot trickier caring for new tattoos and even worse pain-wise. Now, they were fairly ease to heal up in a matter of one or two days. It was one of the odd side effects of having an excess of military-grade medicine just lying around.

Once I was declared good to leave, I stood up and stretched carefully. My arm was still tender, but I could move easily enough. “You want to get something to eat? I skipped dinner when I came down,” I asked.

Tori laughed, shaking her head. “I’m all set,” she insisted. “If I go down there I’ll just use it as an excuse to eat dessert. Some other time, maybe.” I nodded in understanding and said goodbye to her. I walked out of the parlor and rolled my stiff shoulders. The motion made my new tattoo ripple and I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face.

Making my way down the spiraling walkways of the Pit, I headed to the dining hall. A few people murmured greetings to me, which I returned in equally quiet tones. Once I got inside the usually-crowded hall, my heart sank. Most of the night’s food had already been put away and the remaining chafing dishes were picked clean, save for the occasional scrawny chicken wing. I scavenged for some remaining bits and pieces, but ultimately I ended up with a plate of cold, unappetizing food.

The lack of anything decent to eat, coupled with sitting entirely alone, made for dinner to be a quick affair. I picked at the last little bits of meat clinging to the bone before throwing down my last chicken wing. I was still hungry though, even as I brought my tray back to the kitchen window and left the hall.

I walked up the ramps and walkways to the upper edges of the pit. Up by all the clothing and surplus shops was my favorite place to stop at - a pastry shop that always had _the_ most enticing cupcakes. Their coffee was far superior to the dining hall’s, but it also cost actual points. I allowed myself to indulge in getting one just about once a week because _dammit I deserved the treat_. I stepped through the doors and was greeted by Patty, one of members of the bakery’s very small staff.

“Hey Tris! You’re just in time. Half off choco-mint just started,” she greeted cheerfully. Her frizzy, unruly hair was tied up in a ponytail, though strands were escaping and dangling across the back of her neck.

The price cut was just the temptation I needed, so I ordered a pair of the chocolate mint cupcakes along with my customary latte. I settled into a booth and peeled the wrapper off my first cupcake. The soft, delicious cake was absolutely perfect, the minty frosting countering the overwhelming dark chocolate taste. Patty dropped off my latte when it was ready, siding into the booth across from me.

“So the word around the compound is someone got some new ink,” she started casually. “Some flashy geometric design.”

I blinked. _Word had travelled fast._ Who knew that anyone would really care what I’d gotten inked? “Is that so?” I replied, mimicking her casual tone. “Something geometric like, oh I don’t know, triangles?”

Patty sat forward eagerly, tapping the table frantically in front of her. “So you’ve _seen_ it? I knew you would have!” she squeaked out. “Tell me, does it go all the way down his back?” Her eyes were bright with excitement.

I froze completely, my latte halfway from the table to my mouth. “I’m sorry, _what?_ ” _What the hell was Patty talking about?_ “Who are you talking about?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Eric, same as you,” Patty replied breathlessly. “You know, the blonde oh-so-terrifying Leader? Your boyfriend’s nemesis?”

“Eric didn’t get a new tattoo,” I stuttered. “And if he did, there’s no way that’s what it was.” It couldn’t be. “And Four’s not my boyfriend!”

“Cindy said that Bud did the design up custom this morning. Only a couple people saw it, but word is that it’s geometric, has triangles, and is just so badass,” Patty gushed. Something clicked visibly and her focus completely changed. “Wait, you and Four broke up? Why?”

I put my latte down, feeling lightheaded. There was no way. This could not be my life right now. Chicago was going to hell in a handbasket, and I had the same tattoo as my least-favorite trainer. I laid my head down on my hands, counting to ten slowly.

“ _Tris what is on your arm_?” Patty almost shrieked, her voice going painfully high. “Oh. My god. The rumors are true.”

Please no. Please don’t say it.

“You _dumped_ Four and got _matching tattoos_ with _Eric freaking Coulter?!!_ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tris recounts exactly what happened to make her relationship with Four break down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you didn’t mind the wait too much, Meag! And also to my other readers, sorry :c It’s been busy here at Sarah’s Fanfic Writing Enterprises. I’ve updated my writing sideblog with goodies such as a My Writing page where you can see what’s in progress and what isn’t as well as a link to my writing queue posts. Again, the blog is [feckyeswriting](http://feckyeswriting.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.
> 
> Now, on to the fic!

Convincing Patty that _no, I did not dump Four because I was secretly getting with Eric goddamn Coulter_ was a hell of a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. She didn’t want to believe that Four and I were on a break. The only way to convince her of it was to painstakingly recount our last argument before our split.

She settled into the seat across from me with a fresh cup of coffee, eager to get to the bottom of the most recent piece of gossip. I almost regretted it when she started asking questions about the last time that I saw Eric versus Four, but she eventually got the message and quieted down.

“Okay, so basically what it boiled down to was…”

* * *

“You’re not listening to me.”

I tapped my foot anxiously against the floor, too riled up to sit curled up on the couch like I normally did. Tobias wasn’t even sitting down, having taken to pacing back and forth between the couch and his “bedroom” while he ranted. That’s how I could tell that he wasn’t really listening to what I was saying.

He waved a hand and continued his pacing, turning sharply at the edge of his bed before trundling back towards my spot on the couch. “I’m listening fine. You just aren’t thinking about this the right way,” he grumbled.

“You mean I’m not thinking about it _your_ way,” I retorted, shooting him a look through my eyelashes before returning to staring at the floorboards. “I’m using my brain and you’re thinking with your gut. Just because your mother tells you that the factionless-”

Tobias cut me off before I could even finish my argument. “You keep bringing up my mother like I’m some wide-eyed dependent following his mother’s order,” he snapped. “You know it’s not like that.”

I shook my head, incredulous. “You keep _assuming_ that’s what I’m thinking. Every time. When have I ever even said that?”

The floorboard closest to me creaked whenever he stepped on it. Whenever he was upset, it groaned even louder. _Creak_ . Tobias stomped, twisted, and turned back towards his bed, ignoring my question. “The factionless have been dying to be a true part of the system again. Forcing them to live in third rate apartments and not giving them _real_ employment is just going to keep aggravating things,” he insisted.

 _Creak_. Turn. Stomp stomp stomp.

And that was it. He was back on his rant again, tearing into the Abnegation leadership for focusing on constantly giving them support without any intention of supporting their attempts to ‘actually better their lives.’ It was their belief that Chicago would benefit most from bringing the black sheep of the city back into the fold by giving them jobs and titles beyond bus drivers and sanitation crews.

They had a point, but it wasn’t one that could properly be addressed right now. Not while Dauntless was still putting out fires - metaphorical and literal - over the Divergent ‘threat.’

Stomp stomp. _Creak_. Turn. Stomp stomp stomp.

“We’re in a time of reform. Why not go the whole way and reform _everything_ , top to bottom?” he practically shouted in frustration.

I exhaled sharply through my nose. This was where we always ended up. Tobias claiming that _now was the time for change! We only needed to seize it!_ Change was great, but now was not the time to start talking about the Factionless.

He paused in his pacing to glare at me. “What?”

“You know what.” My fingers drummed on my crossed arms. Good lord, why was he so friggen _stubborn?_ “You keep saying that and I keep saying-”

“That you can’t have that much change at once, which is bullshit.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The only thing that’s bullshit is that you refuse to listen to a word that comes out of my mouth,” I said, not bothering to hide the testiness in my tone. “There just _can’t_ be that much change. Hell, acknowledging that Divergents are among society almost broke the entire city apart. Could you imagine what would happen if we tried bringing the Factionless back into the fold? Chaos, Tobias. Chaos.

“We need to stabilize things between the five factions that we already have. Then we can bring about change for the Factionless,” I insisted. He didn’t look convinced, glaring fiercely out his grime-coated windows. I got up - _creak_ \- and walked over to him.

My hand rested on his shoulder as I tried to let him know that I did care about his points. Tobias shrugged it off, choosing to walk towards his bed again. “I can’t believe you’re putting yourself over hundreds of people,” he spat, shaking his head. “I thought you were better than that.”

I froze. How dare he? My brain seemed to lock up; there was nothing I could say in response to that. He thought I was being completely and utterly selfless.

“I thought you were better than that, Tris. I thought _we_ were better than that,” he murmured.

My feet felt stuck to the ground and I could only stare helplessly at him. Only feet away, but the distance felt like miles. “Tobias...” I trailed off, lost for words.

Was he right? Had I turned into a selfish person by leaving behind Abnegation? I thought I was practically immune to that sort of thing, having grown up with Abnegation ideals and having the aptitude - _trust the test,_ they said. It didn’t seem possible. Everything I was fighting for was for the other Divergents, for the faction system itself. Without it, there would be nothing to even attempt to support the Factionless or anyone at all.

I licked my lips and tried to reason with him again. “If we can re-unite the factions, then we can stop the witch hunts which will help the Factionless, too. How many people do you think get kicked out of factions because they’re Divergent? Do you know what kind of bridge we can make by first dealing with the ‘Divergent threat’?”

“Nothing is going to change. How can you not see that?” Four snarled. “Did you not watch the same trials I did? Jeanine’s insane cult of personality is sitting in cells, but that’s it. They killed half the government in one day with the help of Dauntless Leadership. Fucking _Eric_ threatened to shoot me in the head and he’s not even in prison. The kind of faction unity you’re rooting for is just going to end up with more people’s lives in danger, not less.”

“Not everyone knew that Jeanine was obsessing over Divergents. Her ‘cult’ as you call them was misleading everyone. Caleb tells me they’re still trying to sort through all of the published reports from the past three years to figure out what’s true and what wasn’t.”

He snorted, unconvinced. He leaned one arm against the window. It hurt that he wouldn’t even look at me.

How in the hell had our relationship turned to this?

“Let me guess: Eric thought he was doing the right thing by brutally slaughtering the leaders that worked to protect this city? Is that what he tells you when he’s whispering lies to you, training you to be a killer?”

I ground my teeth and stormed back to my spot on the couch. _Creak_. I crossed my arms and tried to bore a hole in the door with my eyes. I wasn’t going to dignify Four’s comments with a response; he was being an ass.

I tuned out the next bit of his tirade. I couldn’t bring myself to listen to him relentlessly bashing the other “sheep” in the faction who had followed the “clearly bullshit” claims that the Divergent sympathizers in Abnegation had been armed and dangerous. There was only so many times I could hear it.

“And he thinks he can just waltz back in here and bark out orders. I should put a bullet in his fucking head just like he tried to with me.” Four’s furious snarling broke through my mantra of _don’t engage him_ . “He’s corrupting people. He’s corrupting _you_.”

I didn’t remember getting off of the couch. All I knew was that I grabbed my so-called boyfriend by the shoulder and forced him to look at me. “You don’t know anything,” I hissed between clenched teeth. “No one is corrupting me. I make my own decisions. I form my own fucking opinions. If you don’t like them, there’s no one to blame except your own goddamn ignorant self.”

The expression on Four’s face was priceless. Later, after I was done running through every cartridge of ammunition that I had, I would savor the look. It would be a long time before I allowed myself to forget the utter bewilderment on Four’s face.

“I’m sick of this,” I admitted. The words were coming faster now, half formed ideas that had been floating around in my mind were now boiling over with no hope of being reined in. “I’m sick of fighting about this and I’m beyond sick of you treating me like I don’t have a single original thought in my head.

“I’m _smart_. I know what I’m talking about. Hell, I’ve been in Leadership training for the past three months and all you can talk about is how incompetent and idiotic the current Leaders are. Well, guess what, Four: they’re the people who are going to actually make real changes to the system. And I’m a part of that. Little old me. Whether you bother to remember that or not, it’s still true.”

Four opened his mouth and tried to interject. “Tris, please calm down,” he said, his hands trying to take mine.

I pushed him away and _creaked_ back over to the couch. I’d left my boots there along with my jacket. I bundled the jacket into a ball and stuffed my feet into my shoes. “It’s my turn to talk. You don’t get to talk over me. Ever again,” I snarled. “I’m leaving. We’re through, you self-obsessed piece of shit. You think I’m selfish? Look at yourself first.”

I let the door slam on the wave of half-hearted, incomprehensible apologies. I was done listening to him.

* * *

Patty had simpered and patted my hand at all the right moments, reassuring me that I had done the right thing by leaving Four. It was nice, I had to admit. The pastry chef had closed the shop as soon as she realized I honestly was _not_ kidding about having broken up with Four over an actual argument.

Her support was immensely comforting, if I was being honest with myself. It’d been less than a day since the breakup and I was still trying to figure out just what it meant now. “So, I basically spent the night in the range, hung out in my office until the day ended, and decided that a tattoo would help me to feel a bit more control over my life,” I explained quickly.

My latte was long gone and talking had dried my throat out entirely. “Guess I should have thought about it a bit more,” I chuckled. Patty laughed along with me, a hearty laugh that boomed throughout the entire closed storefront.

“You’re doing fine, Tris,” she said cheerfully. “When I broke up with my first boyfriend, I got a far worse tattoo than some geo pattern.”

That seemed hard to believe. “Yeah right.”

Patty shook her head and then rolled her sleeve up. Permanently inked on her forearm was a broken heart that listed what I assumed were the dates that the pair had been together during. It was less than a month.

“Way. Worse,” she groaned. “Course now I’ve learned to laugh about it. Was a bit harder when I tried to get laid the rest of that month.”

I nodded in agreement, though I couldn’t stop the wry smile that was spreading across my lips. “I still don’t know what to do about my accidental ink partner,” I admitted. It looked downright awful that we’d gotten the same ink on the same day, hours after I broke up with my boyfriend of almost a year. A boyfriend who was the rival of said partner.

Patty only shrugged. I didn’t expect an answer on a platter, but it would have been nice to get some advice. After a moment of comfortable silence she got up from the booth and made her way back to the counter. “You got somewhere to stay, right? You hadn’t moved in with him?” she asked.

That wasn’t a problem. I hadn’t quite gotten over the Stiff stigma against living with someone you weren’t married to, so I never moved in with Four. I waved away Patty’s remaining concerns and thanked her for her offer to have breakfast tomorrow morning. Recounting everything had exhausted me and I was betting that I would still feel the same way, especially in the miserable grey light of morning.

Feeling more than a little overwhelmed, I left the pastry shop and started for the living quarters of the compound. It had to be nearly one in the morning and the Pit was finally quiet. The sound of the chasm was soothing, echoing across the granite walls to fill the void of the usual hustle and bustle of the faction.

I closed my eyes and just listened as I waited for the elevator to arrive. The soft _ping_ of the carriage arriving broke my moment of meditation and I peeled my eyes open. Someone had gotten in from the lower levels - probably having just returned from the garages or cleaning up a training room. I slid inside with a quiet “hey” and leaned over to punch the button for my floor.

It was already lit up and I had a sinking feeling. The doors closed, shutting out the dull roar of the river and leaving me in a tiny box that echoed with two people’s breathing.

“You’ve _got_ to be shitting me,” a low voice grumbled from the figure next to me. I realized exactly who it was, not from their trademark miserable tone or their Dauntless-to-the-core aesthetic - which was hidden by a dark hoodie - but from the way that their head ping-ponged between my freshly tattooed arm and my face with complete and utter dismay.

“Hey Eric. Heard you got a new tat,” I managed to say through dry lips and an even drier mouth. “I’ve got a funny story about that.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tris and Eric actually address the awkward situation between them. Tris tries to hide away from what is suddenly the nosiest faction, but her new "buddy" has something to say about that.

I could hardly figure out what I was saying. Eric was looking at me like I had two heads and I was just babbling as though it was just a _funny story_ that we were sporting matching ink.

He punched the hold elevator button and we ground to a stop midway between floors. Eric crossed his arms and leveled a gaze on me that would make a lesser woman weep. “You wanted out from your relationship so badly that you went full psycho and stole my tattoo design,” he said cooly. “Or at least, that’s what it looks like to me.”

Shaking my head, I put up my hands defensively. “That is not at all what happened. Four and I broke up yesterday. Well, two days ago now but that’s not the point,” I explained. “The actual point is that I _didn’t_ steal your design.”

He raised his pierced eyebrow.

I winced. It was hard to deny the indelible proof on our skin, but I would swear on my honor that it was true. “I know that’s what it looks like,” I began again.

Eric cut me off, shaking his head. “I find it hard to believe that you just happened to end up with my design on your arm. I can see it, Tris. It’s identical. Wu is great, but she’s not one to dream up a geo design like this by accident,” he retorted.

Now it was my time to get irritated. I jabbed his chest with one finger, frustration pushing me past any reservation of getting up in Eric’ personal space. “Criticise me but don’t you dare knock Tori. She’s a fine artist,” I defended.

“None of this is the point,” I changed tactics. “The point is, I got a design from the books at the front of the shop and it happens to match yours.”

“My _personal commission_ ,” he growled.

“Blame your guy then! He left the design with the other flash tat designs,” I snapped back. It had been far too long of a day. The last thing I wanted to do was continue arguing with Eric about this. “The thing that I want to know is what are we going to do about this now?”

That shut him up. The blonde ex-Leader grimaced and I could see the wheels turning in his head. What he ended up asking me caught me off guard. “So you really broke up with him before getting the tat?”

I nodded and rubbed at my face. The emotional rollercoaster was taking its toll on me. “We broke up a night ago, two nights ago, whatever - Tuesday night,” I clarified. “I left Four’s apartment, went to the range, and eventually ended up at the tattoo parlor. I didn’t even know it was your design. Like I said, it was up with the flash designs.”

“I heard about someone tearing through the range.” He frowned. “So that’s why you didn’t go to the briefing today.” I didn’t want to know why he was paying attention to when I was or wasn’t at the briefings. Being still in training, I wasn’t required to go anyway. I was on track to become a Leader, but it was just as likely that I’d just end up as a Lieutenant and never need to go to them in the end.

“Bingo,” I replied, snapping my fingers. I punched the elevator release button and crossed my arms. Clearly we weren’t going to reach a resolution about what to do about our awkward situation. If we were done talking about our tats, then we were done talking in private. I had an empty apartment to get to.

The elevator lurched into motion once more and we ascended the spire. He continued to squint at me without speaking. The silence stretched between us.

I remained focused on the lit up floor buttons and ignored him. If he was pitying me, then I’d tell him where to stick it. If he was mad, same answer.

“You okay to be alone, Prior?” We were back to last names now that the elevator was moving again.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I shot back. I re-tied my ponytail for lack of anything better to do.

He barked a short laugh, sounding bitter and cruel. The Eric everyone knew and despised. “You just broke up with your long-term Divergent boyfriend. Probably your first boyfriend, too, if I was a betting man. He was the only person in this whole faction who supported you when the trials wrapped up. And you got a spite tattoo the instant you were done blowing through a small armory’s worth of ammo. I’d say you were someone to keep an eye on,” he answered honestly.

I knew he was being honest because Eric wasn’t one to soften his blows, literally or metaphorically. I bore a lot of healing bruises from his training methods. “I have way more friends in this faction than you do, Eric,” I snarled back in response. “You don’t know shit about who does or doesn’t support me. Just because you don’t doesn’t mean everyone doesn’t.” Eloquent, I know.

The elevator binged as we reached our floor. I stepped out, ending the conversation. Eric had other plans. He dogged my steps even as I passed by where he was supposed to turn off and I half expected him to grab my shoulder to stop me. “Prior,” he hissed. “ _Tris_.”

I kept going until I got to my door, punching in the code into my lock and twisting the mechanism. I started to pull it open, but Eric slapped his palm on the frame to stop me. “You have friends now,” he amended, “but what I saw in that courtroom while you were testifying was a room of doubters and people hating you for your very existence.”

I had to take a deep breath to keep from screaming at him. Exhaling, I turned to glare up at Eric. “Thanks for the reminder,” I whispered coolly. “Now get the hell out of my way.”

“You’re not as alright as you think you are,” he continued to insist. My hand curled into a fist and I was about to deck him. Just when my patience was about to break, he stepped away and let me pass. “When you realize that, you know where to find me.”

He was halfway down the hallways again when I realized I was just standing there, watching him walk away. He’d pulled his hood over his head and slunk unconventionally in the direction of his own room. When he turned to go down the side hallway, I finally went inside.

I didn’t want to think about anything. I especially didn’t want to think about Eric Coulter. The crate of beer in my cupboards tempted me, but the last thing I wanted was to add alcohol to my already reeling mind. Instead I kicked off my boots and collapsed onto my bed. My arm ached, but not enough to keep me from passing out within minutes of lying down.

* * *

Day two of being single was somehow worse than day one. My arm ached until I coated it with a generous amount of ointment. I’d woken up too late to do my morning running, so I felt off-balance when I got down to the cafeteria early. I remembered as I got there that Patty had offered to meet me for breakfast and I’d brushed her off.

When I sat down, I regretted not taking her up on the plans. I’d attracted a decent amount of attention being “the girl who stabbed Jeanine Matthews” as well as even more for being “the Divergent in Leadership.”

Somehow none of that was as bad the attention I was getting for being Four’s ex-girlfriend. Lauren was actively glaring at me, the instructor nursing a cup of coffee far beyond its usual life expectancy. I buried myself in my hash browns, trying to play the sensation of being stared at as paranoia.

The rough thing about being in the faction of the Fearless was knowing what was or wasn’t paranoia. As much as I wished it was, this wasn’t. People were actively staring at me.

I ended up leaving without finishing my meal, escaping to the tiny office-space I was sharing with another member of Leadership. Kyle never actually spent time in the office, as his job was to man the reception desk. I had appreciated the privacy when I’d first accepted the role in Leadership. Now it provided me with the perfect hidey-hole to avoid all the drama.

“Richards owes me three points,” was Kyle’s only greeting to me. His head stuck into the doorway of our office, a grin plastered on his face.

I threw up my middle finger and swore at him until he went away. I could hear him laughing all the way down the hall. A thought crossed my mind and I extracted myself from my cramped desk and followed him back to reception.

No one was sitting at the scattered chairs, a welcome relief. Kyle wheeled himself back behind his desk and started to dial up someone on the coms - his boyfriend, no doubt. I clicked the end-transmission button and glared at Kyle from across his desk.

“Kyle, what were you and your boyfriend betting on?” I had to know if the rumor mill was focusing on me breaking up with Four or on Eric’s ink being on my arm.

The dark-haired Dauntless shook his head and reclined in his chair. He’d rigged it to go farther back than any sane person would ever want to. “What’s it to you?” he countered.

I closed my eyes and counted to five before responding. “You were clearly betting on me. So it’s very much _something_ to me,” I said between gritted teeth. “I don’t care that you were betting on me. I just want to know what you were betting about.”

He suddenly leaned forward, eyes bright and eager. “You’ve got so much going on that we could be betting on something other than your love life?” he asked.

So it was about Four. I shook my head and flattened my palms on his desk. “No, my breakup is all that’s ‘going on.’ Got it?” I replied.

His forehead furrowed, but Kyle was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. I left him to his paperwork, returning to my ridiculously cramped office. I struggled through a few hours of following up on the Erudite report investigation, but I could barely focus on the documents. My own problems kept circling around to the forefront of my mind, demanding attention.

The main issue that wouldn’t let up was the damned triangles that crossed into my view every time I started typing. I still _loved_ the design, even knowing that it was identical to my least-favorite trainer. What I didn’t love was the godawful assumptions that were bound to start cropping up. My conversation with Patty seemed to have at least stemmed the tide of “secret dating” rumors, but that might not hold for long.

Eric’s words haunted me as well. He’d been so typically himself, arrogant and all-knowing. I bit my lip to keep from physically growling. How dare he assume that I needed to be watched? I was doing just _fine_ thank you very much.

And if he thought that I would go to _him_ of all people if things started to be overwhelming? That was beyond ridiculous. I’d much rather turn to a punching bag than talk about my feelings with the faction outcast.

The clock in the office finally reached eleven, time for my physical training. I wanted nothing more than to just go back to my normal routine and pretend that my life wasn’t any different. I was still in Leadership training. I had duties and responsibilities that I needed to maintain.

I put my sweatshirt back on. It had been hot in the office and I’d shucked it pretty much minutes after sitting down, but the last thing I wanted was to parade around with my arm on full display. This morning I’d almost put on a long-sleeve v-neck, but I knew that I’d be on the floor in training if I was wearing more than my usual tank-top and skin-tight capris.

The temptation to skip suddenly surged. I’d spent all of yesterday avoiding my responsibilities. What was one more day? As badly as I wanted to put everything behind me, as small part of me cried out to continue avoiding the rest of the world. Kyle wouldn’t tell any of the trainers I’d been in the office - he wasn’t a snitch and I’d covered for him enough times when he’d been too hungover to make it in to his shift at reception - but I would still know. The self-imposed guilt won out over my desires to hide away from my faction.

Plus it would shut Eric up.

Resolved, I left my safe little bubble and headed out to the training room.

* * *

Regret was the only thing that I felt after a scant twenty minutes in training. Regret and the return of the gnawing feeling of being on display. Today was a group training day led by a short and stocky Dauntless Corporal. Melanie was her name and she was an OK trainer. Nothing remarkable about her, but she got the job done.

She’d sent us all over to one of the larger training areas to work on adaptability. We each had a turn in what was usually an obstacle course, having to get from one point to another while avoiding a crew of Melanie’s privates who were hell-bent on stopping us. We either won by making it to the end goal or lost when we were physically stopped by the privates.

My turn through didn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped. My nerves were frayed and I ended up flat out running away from a pair of privates with candy colored pink haircuts. They chased me to the climbing wall and my face became quite acquainted with the grain of the wood as they “took me into custody.”

Corporal Melanie wasn’t impressed. I avoided her disappointed glare and went to make an ice-pack from the ice maker over by the lockers. My fellow trainees - other Dauntless members working to earn their place in the Leadership division with jobs like Kyle’s or the other squad leaders like Melanie - seemed to watch me. The ice pack on my forehead blocked half of my vision, but the sensation of being stared at continued to prickle the back of my neck.

“Shouldn’t you be watching the tests?” I snarled.

My fellow trainees looked at each other, skepticism on some of their faces. But they did turn and start actually watching the next few runs. The bag of ice froze my hand, but I couldn’t unclench my fist from around it.

My turn came up again to run the circuit. It went just as well as the first and I was brought down by the same pink-haired duo. I resented how hard the female private yanked my arm to bring me to the ground. My ice pack moved to my shoulder.

After a third run through - I nearly made it to the end before having my legs kicked out from under me - I was nursing a nice collection of bruises. Melanie broke training for lunch and I tore out from the room without a second glance.

I didn’t end up at the cafeteria though. I didn’t go back to training, either. Instead I went back to my apartment and took a long, hot shower.

My arm burned under the scorching spray of water.

I lathered on another layer of ointment and dug out my case of beer. It was room-temp, but it tempered my smoldering frustration. It didn’t ease it, but I made it through one bottle and another without screaming.

The couch was comfortable and I went through three bottles before I couldn’t take it anymore.

“ _Mother fucking bastard_!” I howled, throwing the still mostly full bottle in my hand against the rear wall of my apartment. I wasn’t in a nice enough section of the compound to have a window, so at least I wasn’t going to break something beyond the brown glass bottle.

The smashing of glass shards wasn’t enough. It didn’t soothe the irritation that was clawing at my stomach. I was _angry_. Livid. Pissed off to a degree that should have scared me.

Nothing was right. I was _alone_. Four and I were done and it was eating through the “totally fine” facade I’d put up. People cared more about the story, I realized. I was just that - a story. I’d exposed Jeanine and Max for the psychopaths they really were. I’d saved half a faction from being locked up for crimes they weren’t even culpable for.

People respected Tris Prior the Divergent truthseeker. They didn’t give two shits about the girl behind the name.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and bit my lip until the tears stopped fighting me. My friends cared. They were there for me. They didn’t care about the story.

Except they were only human. Kyle, Patty, shit even Tori all wanted to know if the rumor was true that I’d broken up with Four, either for Eric or not. And then they cared if I was alright. Priority one wasn’t me or my feelings.

I let out another string of curses and chucked another bottle. It smashed into the same spot, shards sticking in the rivers of alcohol moving down the wall. The violence still didn’t make me feel any better.

I nearly missed the knocking on my door. “Fuck off,” I called out. “Come back later.” If it was one of my friends, then I could apologize later. Anyone else could suck it; I wasn’t in the mood to entertain visitors. I just wanted to sit in my tiny living area and start on beer number five.

“I’d love to, but you’re making an awful racket and it’s throwing off my rhythm,” Eric’s gravelly voice cut through door.

Of course.

I sighed and rested my head on the back of the couch. “I’m not going to training. Dock my rank, I don’t give a shit. I was doing terribly today anyways,” I replied curtly. He’d get a kick out of it. A nice throwback to my initiation.

“Prior, come on.” He wasn’t giving up. On what, who knew. He probably thought he was doing the world a favor. Instead he was being a total pain in the ass.

“What do you want?”

“Let me in. Or at least come to the door to talk.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “The door doesn’t have beer and the last thing I want to see is your ugly mug,” I called back. All this yelling was annoying, but I didn’t want to get up. Couch was love. Couch was life. Couch had beer.

Maybe I was a _little_ effected.

I heard something thunk on the door. “Prior…”

I reached blindly for the case next to me. It was farther away than I remembered. “Coulter,” I replied in a sing-song voice.

“I’m not leaving,” he growled. I believed him, too. I also realized that the last thing I wanted people seeing was Eric and I “having an argument” by my apartment.

Check and mate. My desire for privacy won out over my pride. “I’ll let you in,” I sighed. Eric yelled for me to repeat myself and I snapped back at him. I started grumbling about having to get up from the couch, but the sound of my lock clicking open stopped me from getting too far.

Eric let himself in, shutting the door behind himself. “You’re terrible at hiding your code,” he remarked when he saw my dumbfounded expression.

I swayed where I was standing. Standing wasn’t fun. Sitting, sitting was where it was at. I plopped back onto the couch and shook my head. “I don’t think anyone besides you memorizes other people’s door codes,” I grumbled. “I shouldn’t need to hide my code.”

Eric crossed the floor and hopped over the edge of the couch to sit down next to me. He was back to his usual outfit - grey t-shirt and black tactical pants. His vest was missing. I bet that his ink was stinging as badly as mine was. No sense adding another layer of fabric on top of that to dig in.

I groaned and rubbed my face with one hand. “What? Am I that bad company?” Eric teased.

“No,” I replied shortly. “Just remembered my sweatshirt is in the training room. Fuck.” I turned back to my crate of alcohol and pulled out two bottles. One I offered to Eric and the other I started trying to open single-handedly. It didn’t work.

Eric chuckled as he took his from me. “You’re drunk,” he stated simply. “This is the best night of my life.”

“Tipsy,” I corrected. The bottle cap refused to come off, even with both hands working at it. Eric took pity on me and passed me his. It was open and he swapped for my unopened one.

He popped it open with the dull edge of his knife, slipping it back into a sheath strapped to his calf. “Told you,” Eric said after we sat in silence for a minute.

“Told me what?” I wasn’t in the mood for, well, anything. I just wanted to sit, sulk, and maybe throw something again.

He shifted on the couch to get more comfortable, leaning against the armrest. “You weren’t okay. Aren’t okay,” Eric said simply. It wasn’t his usual arrogant response. He was just stating a fact. The shattered glass on the wall across from us was evidence enough.

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing, really,” he admitted. “But I know a little something about going from the top of the food chain to the bottom.”

I laughed, a hollow sound. “You think it’s my ego that’s hurting?” I said. “That’s rich. Utterly rich.” He shrugged, apparently unaffected by my comments. Mr. Untouchable.

My finger jabbed at his foot - the closest part of him I could reach - and I scowled. “You have no idea what’s bothering me,” I insisted.

“Enlighten me, then.” Once again, not the reaction I was expecting. I snorted and retreated to my corner of the couch. It was difficult with the crate in the way, but I managed to lean on the box and still look sufficiently annoyed with my unwanted visitor.

I stopped nursing my beer. My tongue was numb to the flavor by this point, but the fuzziness at the edges of my vision wasn’t quite as fun as before. “I’m pissed at Four,” I snapped. “That’s it.”

He bobbed his head in solidarity. “Number boy is a total piece of work,” he agreed. “That would explain the break-up.”

“But that’s not even it,” I immediately contradicted myself. Eric had opened the door; he was getting the flood. Or something. “You know how people are like, your best friends? Or were your besties? When you were Leader, I mean.”

Eric continued to look at me with amusement, propping his head up on one fist as he leaned on the arm of the couch. “I still am Leader, just with a bit more resentment focused at me,” he corrected gently.

“Whatever. Technicalities,” I grumbled, waving the hand that still held my beer. I sloshed some on my capris by accident. “What I’m getting at is that people are garbage now. Garbage! All I did was break up with my boyfriend and people just… people just stare at me?”

I rubbed at my chin. It felt a little funny. Tingly. That was new. Another draught of beer wiped the thought from my brain. “It _sucks_ ,” I slurred. “They just care about me because I’m today’s gossip.”

Eric raised his pierced eyebrow. Still amused. “You’re always today’s gossip, Tris. Comes with the whole liberator of the faction thingy,” he remarked.

The room spun as I shook my head side to side. “It’s different though. And it’s garbage. People don’t like me because I’m not dating Four?”

“They don’t dislike you. They’re just curious. Maybe a bit insensitive, but they don’t hate you,” Eric insisted quietly. “You’d know if they hated you.”

I groaned and plopped my head on the crate. I was practically laying down now, my legs crossing over Eric’s. He was warm. “How do you know?” I growled. I knew the answer, but I wanted to scowl regardless.

Eric snorted and shook his head. “You’re talking to the number one hated faction member. I know a few things about being alone and putting up with weird stares,” he replied. He stopped looking at me, focusing on my terrible carpeting.

I grumbled, but didn’t reply otherwise. He was right. Whatever. “Tris, you’re going to be fine,” Eric said quietly from the other side of the couch.

“You were quite happy saying how un-fine I was before,” I retorted. “That was rude by the way, telling me what I was feeling.”

It was his turn to poke me on the leg. “A, I was right to call you out,” he chuckled. I liked the sound. It was nicer than his laughing-at-someone laugh. “B, I said you were upset then. You’re still upset. That’s different than how I said you’re _going_ to be fine.”

He sat up more, reaching over me to swap bottles with me. “C, if you don’t want to be throwing up in about an hour, why don’t you hold this for me and we can revisit you getting another?” I stuck my tongue out at him. Immature? Yes. Effective? Also yes. Eric grinned, a flush creeping up along his Leadership stripes.

“Fine, fine,” I acquiesced. “I’ll stop drinking. Where does that leave me? Sitting here commiserating on what it’s like to be _persona non grata_?”

“God, no. You don’t have to stop drinking. Just slow down so I can catch up,” he replied.

He started to talk again, but I cut him off. “Why?”

Eric picked his head up from the back of the couch. “Why what?” he asked.

“Why are you being nice to me?” I suddenly had to look away. “Why are you sitting here, drinking with me, and telling me it’s going to be alright? That’s not the Eric I know.”

I felt him shift on the couch. He picked up my feet and deposited them in his lap, probably trying to avoid that one pointy spring by the armrest. “What Eric do you know?” He was deflecting, ignoring my actual question.

“The one everyone knows. Selfish, grouchy, no-nonsense Eric,” I answered truthfully. “I’ve never met nice Eric before.”

He poked me again on the leg, not letting up until I turned to look at him. It was cute, I decided, the way he was pestering me for my attention. “Hello,” Eric teased. His hand popped up in my face, hovering as he waited for me to take it. I shook it warily, leaning heavily on the box to keep myself from lying completely down. “This is nice Eric. Nice Eric drinks with spunky Leadership girls.”

It was my turn to blush and I was certainly going full-force on that. “Does nice Eric care that he’s got the same tattoo as his least favorite ‘spunky Leadership girl?’” I asked, mumbling through half the words to get them out.

It was the last thing that I was worrying about. Somehow I was too far past caring about Four’s bullshit and I couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened. Maybe it was the alcohol finally working or maybe it was getting to commiserate with a fellow faction outcast. I was grateful either way.

Eric feigned thinking hard, tapping his chin in an exaggerated fashion with my half-finished beer. “I think that nice Eric doesn’t mind when it’s on his favorite ‘spunky Leadership girl.’ Anyone else would have to get a cover-up,” he teased.

I covered my face to conceal how my cheeks got even redder. “Shut up and drink,” I ordered between my palms.

“No complaints here!” he crowed as he began to chug the rest of the bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Look at that! I actually delivered on some Eris flirting and hanging out. What a world we’re in. Thank god for beer, right? Hands up if you thought that I was going to be a brat again and not make them get along. 
> 
> Once again, reviews are love and saying more than just “omg please update” gets you double fireling points, redeemable at a future point in time for prizes like bubblegum and a ten-speed bike.
> 
> Also, further tattoo information: a "flash" tattoo design is something basic that the artist doesn't have to sketch up themself that basically anyone in the shop can do. So, Eric's design was up on the books which had all the Dauntless "flash" tattoos, making it seem like it was up for grabs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have finally read more of Divergent canon - started and finished reading Insurgent a few weeks ago. If you're interested in my review, it's somewhere on Goodreads but damn. You can expect me to thoroughly ignore that entire book like the plague for the rest of my life. It's just bad. How on earth did a sequel get made after that one?
> 
> Relevant things like Candor trials and how Chicago would deal with the shitstorm / aftermath of the Abnegation attack will instead follow logic rather than bullshit. This doesn't change anything that I've already written (as it was already based on logic and the real world) but I just wanted to throw this out there.
> 
> This chapter was intended to be longer, but for logistical reasons I decided to cut it a little shorter and at least put out some kind of fic update. Thank you for your patience and I would appreciate just a bit more as I'm finishing this semester (my final semester of grad school).
> 
> Onwards to fic!

Thank the gods that still paid attention to our messed up little world that I didn't wake up in bed next to a rebound guy.

Fuck them all the same because I woke up with Eric's feet in my face.

Neither of us were on the couch. Or my bed. Or _his_ bed for that matter. No, apparently our drunk selves had decided the choice place to spend the evening was borrowing space on my disgusting linoleum bathroom floor.

I tried to lick my painfully dry lips. "Ouch," I breathed. It was physically impossible to get the sound out, my throat was so devoid of saliva. Swallowing made me retch and I hauled ass to get to the toilet bowl.

Ah. That was the reason for our selected location.

Eric's hand patted the air fruitlessly as he reached out for me without opening his eyes. "S'all good," he mumbled. The stomach acid surging from my mouth disagreed. Tears pricked at my eyes as my body protested throwing up.

Once I could control myself to some degree I fumbled with the handle. " _Whyyyy_ ," I hissed. The sound of the toilet flushing rattled around my head which was now pounding.

"Told you to stop," Eric's voice floated up from somewhere near my knees. He was awake now, too, and looking just as disheveled as I felt. He was missing his shirt - probably a victim of one of our stomach contents - and his eyes were bloodshot.

I remembered parts of last night. Eric coming over, our bonding over being outcasts, drinking. There was a lot of that last one. Somewhere around 3AM after he'd blown off an ill-planned attempt to kiss him the drinking had escalated, at least on my end. I had to do something to fix my bruised ego and stave off the embarrassment.

The memory almost hurt more than my headache.

Almost.

Eric sat up, covering his face with a hand. "Tell me it's not nine yet," he groaned. It was impossible for me to tell, at least not until I rolled back to the ground and stared out the bathroom door. Previous experience had shown that I could see my alarm clock from this angle. Green numbers glowed strong - 10:18.

"Well it's not nine," I offered.

Talking was easier now. My own breath stank of sour beer and other far worse components. I stayed on the floor for another few minutes until I trusted that I wouldn't need to rush back to the toilet.

It was up to me to scrounge for two glasses nicked from the caf and a handful of painkillers, stims, and antacids. Water went into the cups, and the drugs went in our stomachs. Eric had dragged his ass to the couch while I hunted through cupboards for my med kit. The stimulants weren't _technically_ allowed outside of the field kits, but no one really looked too hard at where you went after picking up kit refills from the med clinic.

Besides, Eric wasn't about to bust me for using stims to get over a hangover. He didn't flinch seeing the blue tablets, popping the whole collection in his mouth with a swig of water to wash everything down. "Not your first hangover?" he asked. A smile might have been fighting through the headache and dehydration, it was tough to tell. I didn't want to read too much into his micro expressions and get burned again.

I nursed my glass of water, taking sips between trips to my room to peel off clothes that stank of beer. A shower would be ideal, but we were already beyond late for today's tasks. There was no briefing this morning but I was fairly certain that there was a meeting with Candor that I could not miss.

"Are you going to that meeting, thing, whatever?" I called to Eric as I yanked a fresh shirt on.

"You don't know?" he asked. His voice came from right behind me, and as I turned around I saw that he was standing in my doorframe.

Blood rushed to my head and I tumbled head-first to grab a pair of pants. "Christ, you could knock," I grumbled. He laughed at that before quickly covering his mouth with a fist. Laughing was probably a bit much this soon after waking up hungover. "No I don't know." I said.

Legitimately I had no idea what he was talking about. All I was aware of was a mandate from this week's schedule that everyone "in Leadership or in the process of training for a position in Leadership" needed to attend.

Eric hesitated before clarifying. It gave me time to put on pants and investigate the whereabouts of my deodorant. "There's a hearing," he started. Eric was putting a lot of care into every word before speaking. That or he was fighting the urge to throw up.

"They're trying to strip my rank."

I stopped what I was doing, one sock still in the air. "Beg pardon?" I asked.

Eric exhaled and looked away. "There's a motion that's being pushed through for me to lose my position," he said. I barely heard him over the pounding in my skull.

"They can do that?"

"It's nearly done, actually." He was still speaking at the ceiling instead of me.

I shoved the sock on my foot and went over to him. I had a million questions. How. When. Why. One rose to the forefront. I had to clear my throat twice to get it to come out. "Four?" I asked. "Was it Four?"

Eric closed his eyes and I would have thought he was in physical pain from the way it creased his forehead. "Who else," he replied, his voice hoarse.

* * *

 

I'd never been to Candor before this year, at least not that I could remember from being a dependent. As a member of Dauntless, I'd been there many times. Candor maintained the courts for the city for everything from civil disputes about land usage - an issue generally encountered by Amity settlements - to the more serious cases on inter-faction law.

Then, of course, there were the treason trials. I'd testified in my own as well as been called as a witness for Four, Tori, Will, Christina, and finally Eric. The entire endeavor had been an exhausting series of weeks. Candor had its own serum that they employed in any court hearing that forced you to dictate the truth. It didn't function on the same level that the Dauntless serums did where Divergents had an advantage to understand what was going on. Everyone, including me, was aware entirely they were in a courtroom and being asked to tell the truth. Failing to tell the truth - or worse, withholding information - caused a searing pain.

I never wanted to go back to Candor's courtrooms again.

We can't always get what we want though. I ended up back on a wooden bench of the main courtroom, fingernails digging furrows in the seat underneath me. Myself and the other Leadership trainees were instructed to sit, listen, and reflect on the proceedings. No one was told what they were about, probably in some vain attempt at impartiality.

Kyle sat himself behind me and plopped his head on the seatback, right next to my ear. "Pst," he stage-whispered. "You look like you're physically in pain."

I turned my head, nose centimeters away from his. "And you smell like garlic at eleven thirty in the morning," I retorted.

He apologized and leaned slightly farther back. I welcomed the fresh air; my stomach still didn't want me smelling anything stronger than a freshly laundered towel.

"No but really, damn Tris. You look like you swallowed eighteen lemons," Kyle insisted.

"Please stop," I groaned. "And can you talk any quieter? You don't need to broadcast to the world that I look like garbage. I'm doing just fine on my own."

After a quick check over my shoulder - the judge was still not in their box and people were still filing into the courtroom - I hopped over the bench to Kyle's row. He sat cross-legged on the thing, never one to respect any authority that he hadn't decided was _worthy_ of his. Candor courts were not on his short list.

"Why didn't you tell me that Eric was up for a hearing?" I whispered. Subterfuge wasn't my speciality but I think I was at least partially successful in keeping my face unaffected and emotionless.

"You didn't ask," Kyle joked. I raised an eyebrow at him, unamused. "In all honesty Tris, it wasn't something I could divulge. And you never cared much about the guy from what I saw. He's, what, three years your senior in the faction."

"Two," I corrected. I didn't correct him in his assumption that I hadn't cared about Eric. Really, I hadn't. The kiss attempt was just a result of alcohol and proximity.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Two, sorry. But yeah, I didn't think you'd care? Plus it's been fairly hush-hush until this week. I'm surprised it's gone this far to be honest," he whispered back to me.

I wasn't satisfied with his answer. The rear door closed behind us. Proceedings would start soon. "When did this happen? The whole process, I mean. I would have thought it would have been mentioned before now," I murmured back.

Kyle shrugged one shoulder. "Not that long ago. Maybe a month?" he replied. "You weren't in the loop, seriously? Your boyf-, sorry, ex boyfriend, was heading up the witch hunt."

Witch hunt, that was a perfect descriptor. Eric had already been cleared of involvement with the invasion of Abnegation after a long, arduous trial. Every day had been a new series of questions and cross examination designed to determine if Eric was or was not culpable for the death of dozens of Abnegation leaders.

Four broke two toes kicking a wall when the verdict was decided in Eric's favor, 5-4.

I winced at the memory, now a red flag of exactly who Four was behind his "lone wolf" veneer. As if summoned by magic, my ex-boyfriend stalked into the courtroom. I avoided his attempt at eye contact, crossing my arms to hide shaking hands.

He tripped on the ground when walking by and had to grab a bench to steady himself. "Classy," Kyle mocked audibly enough for more than just our empty row.

"But yeah, Four's been in and out of Candor offices for a while now," Kyle returned to gossiping. "Word says he strong-armed Kang with this whole stunt so that he can jump into the position himself."

I shook my head. This couldn't be happening. "Four _hates_ the idea of Leadership," I insisted.

Kyle quickly corrected me. "Four hates the idea of working with Eric. Plus if he doesn't do something to increase his rank then he's not going to be able to do anything about all the Factionless reform he won't shut up about," he said. The secretary didn't sound too pleased about it. Then again, no one outside of Operations really relished working with Four. The jury was still out on their private opinions, too.

"Give me a break-" I was going to talk more about the ridiculousness of the whole situation but suddenly we were rising and hearing the introduction of Her Honorable Judge So-n-So.

The judge started off with a tired script about not wanting commentary from those who were not in front of the barrier before addressing the Candor justices appointed to prosecute. I bristled, recognizing both of them. They were two of the many, many justices involved in the treason trials.

Always on the prosecution, they were vicious to my friends on the stands. Will had actually broken in tears after being forced to talk about shooting several Abnegation kids even though it was _clearly_ not necessary. Still, Will's trial had an unprecedented _three_ jury members who voted that he was not actually under the influence of the serum. In comparison, nearly all the genuinely innocent Dauntless grunts - as in those who weren't in Leadership - had gotten off without more than a single jury member question on their innocence.

These justices were out for blood.

My heart rate skyrocketed as I realized there were still more people filing into the courtroom. Nine of them, to be exact. "Why is there a jury?" I whispered, aghast. My head was spinning. Hearings didn't call for a jury. They didn't need a verdict, only the final decision of the presiding judge. What was _happening?_

The judge nodded to a bailiff to bring Eric in. I hadn't seen him since he left my apartment to get changed. He wasn't in Dauntless black and it felt so wrong. Candor made those accused of a crime change into the same outfit regardless of faction - a grey jumpsuit. It was supposed to remove any bias from the end decisions.

Eric was dwarfed by the jumpsuit they'd given him. He still tried to maintain his usual strength, setting his shoulders straight and standing at parade rest. They couldn't take the Dauntless out no matter how they tried. I tried to take some comfort in seeing how resolute he was; if Eric wasn't worried, then I had no right to be.

The judge sat forward and studied Eric carefully. "Eric Coulter," she began sternly. "You have been brought before this court under charges of abusing your Leadership rank - the highest title in your faction - for personal gain to the detriment of others. If found guilty during the course of this trial, you will be stripped of said title and removed from your faction of choosing."

"This was supposed to be a hearing not a full trial," I said to Kyle.

He only gripped my hand. The secretary didn't have any answers now.

The judge allowed the prosecution to begin their case, though she was immediately interrupted by Eric's defense. I didn't recognize this justice; she hadn't been involved in any of the cases I sat in on. Maybe that was on purpose. Candor may have wanted someone ignorant of any of Dauntless' previous trials to defend him now. That didn't explain why the prosecution was so clearly stacked against him.

The defense justice stood up, her hands clasped tightly around a leather portfolio. It was the only piece of paperwork she had up there. I hoped it would be enough. "Mr. Coulter -" that was weird to hear again "- protests the validity of this trial due to a sheer lack of evidence on the part of the prosecution outside of hearsay and speculation," she stated quickly.

"Additionally, Mr. Coulter protests the court escalating these proceedings to a public trial instead of the agree-upon private hearing," the defense continued. The judge raised a hand to stop her as she took a breath.

I noticed how the judge focused her glare not on the defense lawyer but on Four, lurking at the front row of the civilian section. "Your complaints are noted, Justice Whitney, but ultimately you don't have grounds to stop the proceedings," the judge ruled. "Please allow the prosecution to continue."

I crushed Kyle's hand as the prosecution immediately called Eric up. Nothing like getting right to testimony. I had to look at the ceiling when they administered the serum. Seeing the Candor nurse holding the syringe made my vision blur.

Stress, it was stress.

Eric toyed with his collar in the witness box. He made eye contact with me then, blinking once. It felt significant. It was probably just the hangover making his eyes dry.

I saw Kyle sticking his tongue out the corner of his mouth. My elbow fit perfectly behind his arm to jab into his side. "Is everything a joke to you?" I hissed between clenched teeth.

"Funny things are," he snapped back. " _Relax_ , Prior, God. Everything is going to work out."

Someone across the aisle glared pointedly at us. We stopped whispering and the questions started.

"Name?"

"Hugh G. Dick," Eric snarled. I could see the wave of pain move through him as his muscles tensed.

Kyle turned red as he fought to hold in a laugh. I was too busy trying to keep my granola bar in my stomach. Flashbacks of my own trial fought against iron will. I was Dauntless. I would not be afraid of a room.

My free hand clenched my knee until my knuckles turned white and my kneecap twinged in pain. Eric fought against the pain for as long as possible before he answered the question legitimately.

Watching the start of Eric's testimony felt like whiplash. The prosecution asked him about his involvement with Jeanine and the other conspirators. Eric's justice could only do so much to protest the line of questioning.

She contested on the grounds that Eric had been acquitted of the charges previously. The prosecution countered by asserting they were focusing on Eric's previous actions as they related to his ability to lead. The objection was overruled, and I watched Eric's expression tighten into a snarl.

The Candor jury in response become more and more stern in how they regarded Eric.

"None of this is new information, like the defense said. How does this prove he can't be a Leader?" I whispered to Kyle.

The secretary shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

It didn't bode well for Eric. As the questions became focused on his decisions to follow Max's call with working with Erudite, it dawned on me exactly what the prosecution intended to "prove."

Four's smug grin was what pushed me over the edge. He sat right in the front row, foot crossed over his knee. He oozed smarminess. I couldn't take it anymore.

"Come on, Kyle," I hissed. I stood up and slunk out of the courtroom along the side aisle, not exactly the image of Dauntless brashness. As I held the door open for Kyle I made eye contact with Eric again. Rage simmered behind his eyes as he answered yet again that he had not raised any direct confrontation against Jeanine's plan while in meetings.

"Sorry," I mouthed. I couldn't do much else but I had to let him know that I was actually sorry, not just running away.

Once outside, Kyle peered at me in utter confusion. "So first you're pissed that you didn't know this was happening and then you just rush out? What gives, Prior?" he asked, completely bewildered.

I crossed my arms. "This can't be happening. This trial. It's supposed to be a hearing. Eric said so. His defense person, whatever they are, said so. So why is it _not_ a hearing?" I questioned.

Kyle threw his hands in the air. "Fuck if I know. And what are you going to do about it? You're not a Leader. You can't just go charging into Jack Kang's office and demand he - Oh no you don't," he quickly backpedaled. I stared at him, trying to measure if he was going to come along or just slow me down.

I was wasting time.

"Tris," he hissed after me. I started walking away, intent on my destination. If Kyle had thought of the idea too, it couldn't be totally impossible. At very least it confirmed my idea that Kang could stop the whole thing immediately. "Tris you're on very thin ice here."

He caught up to me, an advantage of his ridiculous height. "You're not going to stop me, so why don't you shut up and help? Unless you really want to be working for Four. Devil you know and all that bullshit reasoning," I snapped. It was a risk, but a calculated one. I'd gotten pretty friendly with the secretary; I was fairly certain under all that snark was a kernel of respect for Eric as a person, if not a Leader.

He muttered under his breath something about tenacious idiots and Leadership. I decided to take it as a compliment.

Kang's office was, naturally, at the top of the building with the nicest view. His assistant attempted to stop me but I was a steamroller - nothing was going to get in my way. Kyle played the backup role very well, throwing his credentials in the woman's face and asserting we were Dauntless Leadership.

Jack Kang's actual office was more imposing that the courtroom itself. It was lined with books upon books of previous historical laws and current regulations equally. A true law nut. He was sitting at his desk, working on writing up something. Swear to God, he was writing with a fountain pen. I didn't know Erudite still _produced_ fountain pens.

"Tris Prior, Dauntless Leadership," I stated quickly. Technically it was correct. We _were_ Leadership, just not actual Leaders. Semantics, right? My feet planted shoulder's width apart, I settled into parade rest. My hands rested on my back, palm over fist. It looked pretty tough and disguised the shakes just as well. "You need to pull the plug on that farce of a trial downstairs."

The head of Candor looked up at me and furrowed his brow. "Prior? As in Andrew Prior's daughter?" he asked, curious.

I ran through the usual speal. "Yes, that Prior. But I'm Tris, Dauntless, acquitted of being involved in the Abnegation massacre, aided in _saving_ the rest from Jeanine Matthew's insane serum," I huffed.

"Can we stop talking about me? Eric Coulter never abused his position as Leader. Anyone saying otherwise needs fucking proof, not bold faced lies." I spat the words at Jack Kang, daring him to counter. I was more than ready to fight him right here, right now on the subject.

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. The hair on the back of my neck prickled as I could hear Kyle moving behind me. I clenched my fingers tightly over my closed fist to compensate for the nerves overtaking my hands. Quivering in my boots would not portray the resolute confidence that I wanted to project.

Kang budged first. His hands folded across his stomach and he spoke succinctly. I had to step quickly to keep from careening into the hardwood desk as my grasp on reality flickered. Good job keeping it together, Prior. Real imposing. "Excuse me?" I stammared.

"If you feel so strongly, then you're allowed to testify on Mr. Coulter's behalf. But I refuse to be strong armed into stopping the legal proceedings that I put into motion on the word of a single trainee. The city has the right to hear one way or the other the truth of the matter."

My ears rung and I cleared my throat to buy myself time. Was this what I wanted to do? Get back on the stand for Eric? It would mean serums and gawking again. An extension of my misery as Faction spectacle. Was it… no. Was _Eric_ worth it?

I ran out of time to stumble around with indecision. I had to act, even if it was the biggest mistake of my young, moronic life.


	5. Chapter 5

"No."

My hands were shaking again. I'd fallen out of parade rest, but I hadn't lost my resolve. Kang lifted an eyebrow and I could see Kyle shaking his head in bewilderment next to me. "If Tris doesn't want to testify for Eric, I will," he insisted. "I go over every piece of paperwork that leaves his office. I know what's reasonable and what isn't. I can-"

I shook my head. "We're not testifying," I insisted. "No one is going to."

Kyle threw his hands in the air and stalked over to the window. Kang's eyes followed him and I saw how he tensed. Kyle wasn't going to react violently against the man, but Kang still feared him. Everyone feared us.

I didn't want to use that muscle to get Kang to reverse the inquiry, but I had to do  _something_. "There are no grounds for a public trial. Dauntless' Leadership doesn't fall under the purview of Candor," I said.

Kang's attention slowly moved back to me. I ignored the sound of Kyle's fist slamming on the window. "We've been asked to intercede on this matter. And why shouldn't it be the place of Candor to ask questions and resolve justice? Just because the offense isn't within our faction doesn't mean that we cannot determine the truth for you," Kang said.

"Your vipers out there aren't looking for truth. They're on a witch hunt based on one person's very biased opinions," I countered.

"I suppose you are referring to Mr. Eaton's claims," Kang said. He moved to recline in his chair though his eyes still darted back and forth between Kyle and myself. "If I were a lesser man I might take offense to your assumption that we did not do our due diligence."

Kyle snorted. I hoped that he had figured out that I didn't intent to just throw Eric to the wolves. "Take offence, by all means. She meant it," he snapped. "Or if she didn't, I do. Dauntless polices itself."

"That is clearly no longer viable, not when it leads to genocide of a faction and mass hysteria. You need to be brought into check," Kang retorted.

"We  _have been_. That's what the war tribunals were for. Eric's already been through that. Every single argument being made downstairs in that courtroom has  _been made_. And he was allowed to stay in his position," I snarled. "The jury understood his rationale back then. He was trying to look out against a threat - a threat that was a lie, but a perceived threat nonetheless. Now Four's somehow snowed you into thinking that because Eric  _used_  to think that Divergents were a threat that he'll start hunting us again? That's fucking bullshit and we both know it."

Kang clenched his jaw, a vein on his forehead throbbing from barely tamped down fury.  _Come at me_ , I dared him silently.

"We've already begun the trial proceedings," he growled.

"Boo-fucking-hoo," Kyle drawled. "Don't lean into the mistake more. That's not going to suddenly give you actual precedence for it."

Kang fell silent. His teeth dragged over his bottom lip as he thought. Here was where we would see just how committed Candor were to their values. Whether they valued truth and justice more than they did painful openness. He once again looked between Kyle and I.

I couldn't stand the inaction. "If you're not going to do it, I'm going to shut that trial down myself. We're taking Eric back with us. We'll decide on our own if we don't trust him," I said. Here was where I could have stormed out, acted purely on force as Kang clearly thought we would.

Instead I stood and waited. Tension stretched tight between we three. My words acted as a catalyst. Kyle swept next to me, his fists shaking by his sides. I appreciated his support especially how clearly enraged he was. I'd made the right bet, trusting him.

Clearing his throat, Kang levered himself up from his chair. "Perhaps Candor has overstepped its bounds by not allowing Dauntless to attempt these matters internally first," he admitted. "I will call off the inquiry and yield until any formal, proper request comes from Dauntless." He wasn't quite taking responsibility and there was no apology for jumping on the back of someone who wasn't even part of Leadership, but it was enough.

"Fantastic," I said.

* * *

 

Kyle punched my shoulder lightly before vanishing out the lobby door. I hadn't the stomach to go back inside the courtroom itself, relying on Kyle's icey eyed glare to keep Kang on his word. I had heard angry shouting, a dull roar of intrigue from the audience, and repeated calls for order by the judge.

At that point I had forced myself to leave the hallway and linger instead in the downstairs lobby. Within the next hour I saw my fellow trainees and those who had been watching make their way down and out the building. Kyle was one of the last to leave, his easygoing stride back.

Still, there was one person I was waiting to see.

"Tris!" I heard the familiar voice call my name. I stopped twisting my hands around one another and turned to face him. My face had to be schooled into a neutral expression, though I soon abandoned that effort.

Four tore through the milling crowd like my favorite knife through leather. "Tris, I know it was you," he bellowed.

Now my hand itched to be holding that blade. Four's face was red and he didn't slow as he approached. He shoved me against the glass window behind me with both hands, and I pushed back just as hard. My heel kicked out to catch his ankle and trip him.

Four had to take a beat to pick himself up from the ground. It gave me enough time to knee him in the side for good measure. It was a dick move but so was shoving me around like a punching bag. "What, now you're going to just resolve everything with a fistfight?" I hissed. "I didn't think you were that kind of Dauntless. You seemed awfully content to sneak around instead."

His eyes narrowed but I think my words had their intended effect of kicking him down a few notches. He didn't try to retaliate furthur, but he did sidle up closer and jab his finger into my collarbone. "Why did you do that? Why did you stop the proceedings? I  _had_  him. He was going down," Four snarled.

"It was the right thing to do," I said.

Four barked out a laugh. His hand moved to run through his already mussed hair. "The right thing to… How can you even say that? First you bitch that I'm not doing enough and now- now that I had a  _chance_  to enact the goals I want, you put a stop to it?" he roared. All around us black and white shapes froze, their attention locked on our shouting match.

"Why do you care so goddamn much about Eric as Leader? Callum was around for all the same calls but I don't see you trying to rip his rank away," I retorted.

"Eric put a  _gun_  up to my head and  _laughed_. That wasn't because he was misguided or not informed. He wanted to kill me for no reason and thought it was hilarious!" Four's voice had somehow gotten even louder.

My fist bounced against my leg. God how the hell had I gotten into this position? "He still didn't pull the trigger even after he saw you were Divergent. I can't get into Eric's head, I don't know why he did that, but I know that now - not then,  _now_ \- that I trust him," I retorted.

If I thought long and hard enough, I was certain that I could figure out exactly why cocky, gun-sure Eric would have laughed at the chance to shoot Four in the face. But at the same time I trusted my gut. He wouldn't have done the same thing now, not after seeing the consequences of being so reckless and blind. Not when I'd watched his face turn ashen at any mention of the Abnegation siege in our meetings.

Four shook his head and stared at the ceiling. "You're unbelievable," he muttered under his breath. Now that the shouting had subsided some, the people started to mill around again. They did leave a wide berth around us, though.

"Tris," he started this time pleading, "come back to your senses. I was wrong to ignore what you were trying to do with the new Leadership training, I get that now. But we can work together, build up Dauntless into something better. Build Chicago into something better."

I smiled. It was so tempting, the shift to niceties and apparent rationality. It was all a rouse, one I was tired of falling for. Maybe he didn't see it, the subtle manipulations and machinations but I did. I had finally figured him out. "I'm all for that, Four," I replied. "But better for me isn't the 'better' that your mother keeps whispering in your ear."

His mouth dropped open as he tried to pull together a new argument to draw me in with. I walked away before he could finish. The elevator doors had opened again, dumping out a fresh batch of Candor and one single Dauntless.

Even with Four shouting full-force at me, my heart hadn't hammered as hard as it did when I approached the elevator bank. I was vaguely aware of Four trying again to yell my name, but that faded to the background of my mind. Eric was adjusting his collar, finally back in his Dauntless blacks. "Grey looks horrible on you," I teased.

He looked up, contempt written across his face. I regretted opening with the joke. Hell, maybe Eric resented our interference. He had won an impossible case before, the same impossible case. He could have thought he'd win it again and finally put an end to the questioning.

Relief flooded through me as his expression softened. "Grey doesn't look good on anyone," he agreed. "Isn't that why you transferred?" He started towards the front door, gesturing for me to follow with a twitch of his head. I fell in next to him, the movement comfortable. It felt like we were back in the gym, grabbing some extra sparring time after drills were over.

Except I didn't know what to do with my hands. Or where to look. Or what to say. I took some comfort in the fact that by the time I reached the door again Four was gone. If he'd shoved  _me_ , there was no question that he'd throw a punch at Eric.

I checked my watch and groaned. "Hang on," I said, grabbing Eric's forearm.

"Missed it by minutes, didn't we?" Eric grumbled. "I really don't want to wait an hour." We'd just missed the two o'clock train. This time of year with low exports from Amity they ran every other hour.

"It'll be longer than that. Seriously, how do you function without knowing the schedule?" I said with a laugh. Switching directions brought us to the slowly crowding bus stop. Shifting glances and quieted conversations nipped at my already frayed nerves. I saw how Eric even lost his usual swagger and his reply back died in his half-opened mouth.

I eyed the bus schedule. It would be another painful five minutes here, ten to make the loop through Candor, five at the junction to pick up a Dauntless bus… Far too long to be sitting next to the wary faction members who were edging their way away from Eric with every second. "C'mon," I muttered to Eric.

It would take us longer to walk all the way back home, but we would at least be able to duck out from the streets into one of the tunnels if my mental map was correct. Eric stuffed his hands in his pockets, a mirror of my own uncomfortable posture. "Thanks," he grunted after a minute of quiet walking.

"For what?" My ears were red from the wind tunnel effect from all the tall buildings, only. No other reason.

He knocked his elbow against mine before retreating back to his part of the sidewalk. "You know what," Eric murmured. The wind threatened to tear his words away before letting me hear. "I wouldn't have survived another week-long trial. It would have beaten me," he admitted.

I twisted my head to stare at him. Nothing made Eric give up. I'd seen him first hand brawling against four Dauntless at once, nose broken and sweat drenching his back, and he hadn't backed down from the fight. He'd won, too.

Now though, I could see exhaustion in his eyes. He didn't have the energy to fight against Candor's accusations.  _Four's_  accusations. I crossed the two-inch divide between us, wrapping my arm around his elbow to tie us together. "You would have been fine," I insisted. "Kyle and I just didn't want to have to take the train out every day. It gets dull, you know? They don't even cancel court on the weekend. The nerve!"

Eric started to laugh midway through my rant, the sound echoing as we passed under a decrepit underpass. I finally cracked a smile and squeeze his elbow. "See, you're fine," I said.

He stopped. "Why do you care? About me," he asked.

I let my arm drop from his. I didn't miss how his hand slipped from his pocket to start to reach for mine. I let him capture my fingers between his. "Because you're not what they were saying you were. You're… this," I explained as I lifted our hands up. His index finger curled around mine and the others dangled, not quite touching but not far off.

"You're more than just the brute who got power and didn't know what to do with it. I can see how you're different even just from three months ago and that you deserve the chance to… I don't know. Make things right," I muttered.

Eric lifted his other hand and I expected him to… well I don't know what I'd expected. He ran his fingertips down my exposed arm. I'd forgotten to cover up the tattoo today and most of my wardrobe was tank tops to avoid overheating while training. "I wanted to be mad about this, you know." His voice came out in a rumble. "About matching with you."

All my earlier fears from just a day ago reignited with a vengeance. Eric touched the edges of the triangles, his fingers trailing back up to my shoulder then along my neck to my chin. "Couldn't," he said simply.

There was something in the way that his eyes held mine that told me I'd been afraid of the complete wrong thing, that his rejection of my drunken kiss hadn't been so much because of the kiss as it was the state under which it had been given. I had to stop this. He had to realize that I wasn't, I couldn't be his choice. It just didn't make sense.

"I've got horrible baggage. Divergent, transfer, suspicious on all accounts," I blurted out. "And Four's-"

"I don't care," Eric interjected. "It doesn't matter to me." The earnesty in his insistence bowled over my feeble excuses.

I exhaled and tried to not lean into his hand. "I don't want this to be a rebound mistake," I admitted, though it wasn't much of an argument. I was losing the battle against myself, my fingers stealing the rest of his.

He lifted one shoulder. "If it is, then so be it," Eric said. His lips quirked in a small smile. "Won't be the end of the world to try."

I let him tip my chin just so. It was all that I needed to let go of that final reservation, and I lifted on my toes to press my lips to his. It didn't burn like fire and a choir of angels didn't sing up above us, but my heart did skip a beat as Eric's hand dropped to curl around my waist. He tugged me just that inch closer and I felt his lips move in a smile.

If it was a mistake, it was a very nice one. One I could happily keep making.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers! This final chapter has been long in the making and I'm terribly sorry for just how long it's taken to GET to. Truly, I wasn't very happy with the direction I dragged us all in with the end of ch 4. Not that I don't like the court sub-plot, but it was severely distracting from the core of this fic: Eric and Tris, dealing with their new ink. In the end, I finagled this final chapter and I really do hope that it still satisfied everyone's hopes for an ending. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic and want to see more, please do check out my profile for more fics with other Eris goodness! And if you have want for more little scenes from this "universe" please don't hesitate to send them to me either through PM here, on Tumblr, or on the "[Tales from the Pit](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11803500)" drabble collection comment page. 

**Author's Note:**

> The actual design, in case it was unclear, is a pretty typical geometric pattern of a series of equilateral triangles pointing down Tris’s arm / Eric’s back. I wanted to pick something that matched the style of previous Dauntless tattoos. Most shown in the films (and those described in the books) are simple black designs with skin breaks. The designs are usually geometric, tribal, or graphic-like (eg. Four’s backpiece). I think that the most “mainstream” of tattoos would be Christina’s vines, but even then those could be done in a more flat style to match the rest of the faction’s. I think another style that could almost would would be trash polka - though that technically requires red ink for it to be legit.
> 
> Please ignore my quantity of tattoo lore. Dan and I watch too, too much Ink Master (It’s the best! Join me in my IM hell!)


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